


I find redemption in your lips

by IndigoDream



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: (mentioned only) - Freeform, (tagged M for violence & murder talk), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Has a Past, M/M, Mention of abuse, Minor Character Death, Scars, Self-Doubt, abused jaskier, the author needed someone to love Jaskier unconditionally
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:47:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27944762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndigoDream/pseuds/IndigoDream
Summary: Jaskier has a lot of things to repent from his past. They haunt him at nights, but Geralt is there to help him through the difficult moments.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 7
Kudos: 103





	I find redemption in your lips

Jaskier isn't a good person. Well, he didn't use to be one, at least. He used to scan and cheat and steal, to take what he thought he was owed, when he had done nothing more than create trouble. So no, Jaskier didn't use to be a good person. Some days, he still isn't one. He has sticky fingers, a silver tongue. He has long lashes and an easy smile. He wasn't made to be a good person. 

It's the problem with Jaskier after all. He isn't a good person, but mostly, he shouldn't exist. He was made to be who he is, created in between a laboratory and a cloud of magic. The love child of two mad scientists. He knows he isn't a good person, because he killed them when he was only fourteen. 

"You're thinking of it again," Geralt murmurs sleepily against his naked shoulder. 

They are an inn that night, Geralt having decided to splurge on a room with a private wash, Jaskier had spent nearly an hour in it. The water had been burning hot, angry on his tired skin, and he had felt like he had deserved that pain. All the pain of the world has rested on his shoulders for days. He has felt the tug of war under his skin. He has _fed_ that feeling. 

“You’re not a bad person,” Geralt kisses his shoulder, a soft touch so fleeting that Jaskier almost lets himself believe that it is only a figment of his imagination. “You are not who your parents were, you are not the person you were when you were with them.” 

“It wasn’t so long ago,” Jaskier whispers back, and he tries to move away, but Geralt keeps him in his arms, a gentle grip that won’t relent. “You shouldn’t-“ 

“Stop,” Geralt turns him into his arms, so that they are face to face. “If I want to be with the man I love, then I will certainly do so.”

“There is no reason for you-“ 

“Do you have reasons to explain why you love me?” 

“It’s not-“ 

“Jaskier. Answer my question, please.” 

“I have reasons but… I just know I love you. I adore you. You are… You are yourself, and I love you.” Jaskier breathes the words out, tears already gathering in his eyes. 

“Then trust me, I love you too. You don’t need to do or be anything special for me to love you. I fell in love with the person that you are. Every day, being with you is a joy. Even when we argue. Even when I snap at you. I love you.” 

“I killed my parents,” Jaskier sobs out, the words wrenched from his very core with a dark pull. “I watched them die, and then I burnt them, and I was _happy_.” 

“They hurt you.” Geralt switches them so that he is standing atop Jaskier, his thighs around the other man’s waist and his hands around his cheeks, forcing an eye contact between them. “They abused you. Your scars are proof enough of that. You did what you had to, and you were a child. You rose from that.”

“I stole, I was a thief, I-“ 

“You did what you had to do to survive.” Geralt pushes his forehead against Jaskier’s. “Listen to me. You did what you had to in order to keep living. And that in itself is a strength. You showed me your memories. You gave me an insight into your life from before we met. I know what you did. You tried to steal from _me_.”

Jaskier sniffles, and half heartedly tries to move away, but his movements have no strength. He doesn’t want to move away; he only wants to get away from all the kindness Geralt is showing him. He doesn’t deserve it. Geralt should hate him, should want him dead, should have killed him the minute he caught Jaskier at the edge of Posada. Taking coin from a witcher was a bad idea, but Jaskier had thought himself smarter, better, sneakier than anyone else. He had been wrong.

“I thought you were a common thief. I thought you weren’t worth a look over. And then you spoke. You spoke and you stole my heart. I didn’t even think I had a heart before I met you. I thought that everyone was right, witchers are emotionless bastards, only good at killing monsters.” 

“That’s not true,” Jaskier can’t help but interject. “You’re amazing! You save everyone you can and you love so many people, even if you don’t say it. You are kind and you are sweet and-“ 

“You taught me that it was alright to do all those things.” Geralt presses a kiss to his forehead. “You taught me I could be a witcher and have feelings and be angry and sweet and kind and still think of myself first. You taught me what it meant to live.” 

“I-“ 

“Shh.” Geralt presses a kiss to his cheek. “Stop, for once. Let me talk. I know it is hard to believe. I will never stop trying though. You have to understand. I had never met anyone as bright as you. You were a bright light, even when you wore rags and stole from anyone you saw. You, Jaskier, the love of my life, were more than I ever anticipated I would have.” 

A peck to his other cheek has Jaskier shiver, but Geralt continues. “You killed the people who created you, yes. You slew them, and you were happy of their departure from this world. Do you think I am not happy to kill monsters who have preyed on people? That when I finally manage to get the drowners who took a farmer’s wife, I do not feel a bit of relief, at ridding the world of such evil?” 

Geralt’s lips brush his jawline, and Jaskier closes his eyes. 

“You rid the world of two horrors. Your parents, may their souls rot in all the hells that can be found, broke you apart. They never wanted a child. They wanted a toy they could experiment on. You do not owe them your life. You are yourself. You chose your name, made yourself the man you are now. You do not owe them anything.” 

Geralt leans back a bit, taking jaskier’s hand in his own, and he turns it over, so that the palm is showing. “Drop your glamour”

“Don’t,” Jaskier pleads, panic rising through him slowly. “You know I hate it.” 

“I know,” Geralt soothes and reaches out again, pushing hair away from his face. “Trust me?” 

Jaskier is reluctant still. He doesn’t often accept to take back the form he was created in. All the stories of his life crosses on his body. The good, the bad, the worse. He remembers the trials and errors, the inhuman blood pumping through his veins, the pain that coursed through him for days on end. He wasn’t anyone back then. He was raw nerves tore open, prickles of blood that ran to the ground. He was nothing worth being loved.

“Please,” Geralt insists, gentle still, but unbending. “I promise, I won’t make you keep it for too long. Just a moment.” 

Jaskier sighs, closes his eyes for a moment. Focusing on the chaos inside him is easy, oh so easy. He hates how familiar it feels to reach for the bundle of chaos, how _comforting_ it feels. He had sworn when he met Geralt that he would never let his chaos out again, but it is stronger than him on most days. He wears his glamour and casts spells to protect Geralt. He makes sure that Roach will not hurt herself on the dangerous paths they take, and he calls to the dandelions and buttercups that sleep into the ground. Sometimes, it is a rose that blooms, and he feels fear strike him. Roses were his parents’ favourite flower. 

When he opens his eyes again, he doesn’t see very well. His eyes are pitch darkness, made to see all that is unsesn, and made to strike fear in the heart of all that see them. Geralt doesn’t move away.

“Thank you.” 

The witcher squeezes Jaskier’s left hand, and the bard shivers. He knows what Geralt is going to say next, has no other expectation that to hear that he is monstrous in the end and how could anyone love anyone like him and-

“This is not who you truly are. Those scars molded you, and the spells they burnt into your skin made you different, but this body that you acquired through pain is not who you are. It makes up a part of it, yes, but this isn’t the Jaskier I know and met ten years ago. You are not this body, and you are not at their mercy anymore.” 

Jaskier’s breathing is shaky, and he blinks, his eyes turning back to their blue shade he had chosen when he had first started shifting and glamorizing properly. He had copied it off someone, he thinks. It’s been twenty years now, a little more maybe. He doesn’t remember exactly. Things get blurry after a while. He wants to forget some days, forget who he is. But when he has Geralt holding him like this, when he feels hands gently caressing his cheeks and lips kissing his cheeks and jaw, he thinks that it would ask too much of him. 

How can he give up love? How can he give up this life he has chosen? 

“I’m… a mess,” he chuckles wetly, tears still running down his cheeks. “I’m such a fucking mess and you shouldn’t have to deal with me like this. Yet I’m thankful that you still want to take care of me. I’m so selfish, Geralt. So selfish, to want to stay at your side day and night, to ask of you to love me.” 

“Is it selfish of me to want the same thing from you?” 

“No, of course not, you deserve all the love in the whole world.” 

“Then so do you. You deserve all my love, everyday, every moment you breathe and exist, you deserve it. You are who you are, and you were shaped through pain. So was I.” 

Jaskier breathes in and out, long exhales that freeze the air between them for a second, but Geralt doesn’t move. He holds him as Jaskier calms himself down, as Jaskier lets Geralt’s warmth and love seep into him. 

“Okay.” He nods after what feels like an eternity, but what he knows to not be more than ten minutes. “I trust you. You wouldn’t lie to me. You don’t lie. Not to anyone.” 

“You would know if I did anyway,” Geralt says, nuzzling at his neck and dropping a kiss there as well. “You have said yourself I’m the world’s worst actor.” 

The bard hums, trying to hold back his giggles. “Yes, you are. You are quite terrible at saying what you do not think, after all. That’s why you need me at your side for your contracts.” 

“That, and I would miss you too terribly to focus on anything properly.” 

Geralt is rarely so open about his feelings for Jaskier. He has always been more of the actions than words kind of person, but with Jaskier, he tries. He tells him everything, as well as he can, and he is there as often as he can. Not always, of course. Jaskier can’t bear the idea that he would force Geralt into caring for him every time he thinks back to it and spirals away. 

Jaskier doesn’t want Geralt to see all of that anyway. He wants to keep some of the tears for himself. He can only ever share the pain with the sky, filled to the brim with stars who wait until the dusk every day to illuminate his own way of life.

“You’re getting sappy in your old age,” Jaskier teases, trying to keep himself from crying again, although this time would be because he feels himself bursting with love. 

Geralt hums an agreement and then rolls over, opening his arms. Jaskier takes only a few moments to make sure his glamor is back on properly, checking the palms of his hands quickly. He can still feel the spells engraved into his skin there, but he can’t see them right now, and he feels only relief from that. 

“Thank you,” he whispers once he is back in Geralt’s arms, nestling himself so that he is safely encased within the warmth of his lover’s hold. “I love you.” 

“Rest up, little lark.” Geralt says and presses a kiss to his curls. “We have a long day ahead tomorrow.” 

Right. They are going to Kaer Morhen together for the first time tomorrow. It will be an interesting experience, living for the winter in the home of the witchers, nestled in the Kaedwani mountain. 

He can’t wait for it. 

He is falling asleep again, his heartbeat still a bit too fast, when Geralt’s hand caresses his back, and the witcher sighs. 

“If only you could see yourself as I see you, my love,” Geralt whispers. 

It is clear that he isn’t expecting an answer, and Jaskier hides a smile full of giddiness in Geralt’s shoulder. He has no idea of how he managed to get so lucky in life, but he certainly won’t reject this.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope y'all enjoyed it! Don't hesitate to leave a comment/kudos!


End file.
